Batman: Livor Mortis
by iammemyself
Summary: It was always, from the beginning, far too complicated. A remix of roll-n-riddle's Rigor Mortis.


A remix of roll-n-riddle's 'Rigor Mortis'

Indiana

Characters: Scarecrow, the Riddler [Scriddler]

Synopsis: It was always, from the beginning, far too complicated.

It was always, from the beginning, far too complicated. It was a sketch, etched into the page with so much force no effort of erasing could remove it. A foundation irrefutably laid.

The sketch doesn't always bely the finished product; a skilled artisan knows how to use the shadow in the page to their advantage. But a beginner, no, a beginner's strokes will lapse into the same tired lines. And we were such beginners, weren't we.

From the start you were special. It might have been the rare raw intelligence in your eyes, or the easy smile that came and went like the sunshine on one of the city's brighter days. The fearlessness in the face of then greater men, the delight in playing a game of two. There was nary a chance of never meeting again; you were mesmerising. I longed to mold you. Ah, what a man I could make out of you! Though somewhere, in the many meetings hereafter, it didn't turn out quite as I'd planned. I couldn't put hands to change you because you changed yourself each and every day, and it was... beautiful. When did I decide to watch you as you were instead? Mm, that's right: a man dared lay hands on you when we left the bar. It was a spontaneous decision, one of my first in years, and what a thrill it was. No one would mark you save for me, I decided then. With a vengeance that would have alarmed me if I had not known it was for you, I filled his blood with toxin until his ruptured heart spilled the mixture across the floor. You were working away at a crossword upstairs, the Times always and only; I told you he was more pig than guinea and that I had learned just how much additional fluid a man's heart could take. You smiled at me. Gave it to me, and only me, because of me, for the first time.

You had me then as no one had before, for you caused me to return that smile against my volition. Nothing so genuine had crossed my lips in all my life. I was as much yours as you were mine.

Time wound forth as it will do, and I spent much of it with you. Very little of it did I consider to have been wasted, as often I do when I must attend to things other than my research. I knew what would happen eventually. It was an old habit from another life when I was a different man, but still I knew. And because I knew, I waited. I waited for the shroud to come off and for you to reveal yourself, because though I had seen the root of your intelligence countless wondrous times, I had yet to see the rawness. You kept it from me to protect yourself and I waited, for I needed no protecting. I would never have spent so much effort on a man I didn't intend to view all the way through, and I would wait until the end of time with the deepest of patience if that was what you required.

When I told you that I knew you, you thought I spoke of how you slept at night, where you put your clothes in the morning, the words that would anger or placate you. No, Edward, no; I knew all along what you were. A man wrapped in bandages to prevent anything precious from being lost. You were from the first day a wound always raw, and I had longed to tear into you because I believed it would be satisfying. But no; the future came and I found myself longing to wrap you up, in the way I'd long practiced on myself. I would wait for you to show yourself and then I would show that to you, but I would not rush it. Everything about you ached with delicacy.

You wanted all of me and I gave it to you without shame. I knew it would scar you and you tried not to care, and even as I embedded myself in you I forgot about what it would mean. For us to be on equal ground as we so obviously were going to be, I was going to have to trade my stone surety for your carefully guarded rawness. One cannot be close to someone else without giving some part of themselves away, and so I did. I became soft and I hated it, and it was why I punished you. I had deemed myself strong many years ago and I made myself weak for you, and it was your fault. You deserved what I did to you then. And I tried not to feel regret afterward. I was apart from myself even as I repaired the damage, because I was right to inflict it. You agreed that I was right to inflict it. You had asked for it and I had given it to you, and I was in the right to do so.

I had never been so wrong.

You were raw and full of pain, yes, but none of it was from me. I had decided you were mine and so must your pain be mine also, and it was _not_ right but it was what I did. No man has the right to own another completely and I was willing to do you any degree of damage to force otherwise. And you let me, because you wanted to be owned, didn't you. You wanted me to own you as no one ever had. You would have given me everything you were.

Yes, I knew you. I knew that about you all along. How deep it ran I had been unsure, but the further I plunged my hands into you the more endless it seemingly became.

You are so very strong.

I know you thought otherwise. That it was weakness to wait for my call, to listen for me flip keys over and over each other as I sought the right one, to pluck out from the near silence my bare footfalls and my sharp inhalation of the cool air beyond my mask. To lie awake and wait for me to return and pretend you were sleeping so I would not tease your eagerness. It was times like these my livor mortis would abate.

I remember the night. You lay in the silky darkness pretending to sleep, the way I found you over and over again though both we knew you fooled no one. Always you waited for me, always you put aside your effervescent impatience and allowed me to take my time. This I did not take my time with; I moved in close beneath the sheet and you trembled in anticipation of my arms around you and my mouth against your tender neck so I could breathe in the flavour of your hair. Did you know I was indifferent to the scent of things before you came along? I think it one of the few things you didn't know. Ah, but I looked forward to it, the way that hint of Old Spice and something floral clung to your skin. In equal measure I treasured the days you carried the tang of grease and static and steel. But even those days, when you were no doubt tired from your own work done that day, you always waited for me. On this one night you sighed and I smiled at your contentment. For such a complicated man, your needs at heart were so quaintly simple.

If truth be told I was waiting for you to leave. I had been conquered, more or less, which you knew and which I somehow could not bring myself to care about. The game was nearly done. If you considered it not to have an end, I did not know. All of your ploys have a finale in mind and I merely waited for you to reveal it to me.

At first I thought that's what it was come morning. I thought you were ending the game. But no; now you were showing to me just how deep your rawness ran, just how tangled and jagged the stitches sewed upon your soul were, and I was afraid. You screamed and cried and blamed me for everything, and I was afraid. I had been waiting for it, had expected something like this, but it was so much _worse_ than I had believed. In order to be equal with you I had to be willing to _become_ that, to exist as pure, raw _pain_ , and that... was that what I wanted? Could I even be successful at that? For it was not some small thing. It was a beast that lay sleeping in your chest and tore out your heart whenever it woke, and I... had torn out my own a long time ago.

I left then, to allow you to burn yourself out; I know you believed I was not returning. You believed that the catalyst for my forever departure, but know you were wrong: I had no intention of leaving you. Which was why I had to leave then. It was the first time I had considered it. You were more than I had bargained for.

But that was part of your draw to begin with, I realised. You had always been more and I had always wanted to know just how much more you were. And yes, I had now seen the depth of your pain, but had I not also seen the height of your joy? Was one not worth the other? But of course; when I asked myself in that way the answer was obvious. Yes. You were.

It took me too long to realise, but I did not fret over it; as long as the solution is arrived at, the method does not matter. And it was fitting, for the sun dripped into the sky with my chosen colours, as though Gotham itself told me my decision was true. You asked if I would kill you and a more preposterous question had never crossed your lips. Kill _for_ you without a second thought I would, and perhaps I would mishandle you on occasion because your delicacy always vexed me, but kill you I would not.

You had expected me to leave and still you were waiting, you were waiting for me to prove your fears true, but I would not. You had probably not slept anymore than I had, and so I joined you as always I did. I took you in my arms and placed my lips upon your neck. You were cold and you trembled and you feared me, but that was never necessary. You needed not be afraid of me.

 _Why? Don't you know me?_

 _Yes_ , I said as I drew my fingertips down your back, your breath catching in your throat. _But you know me too_.

You saw it then, didn't you.

I was no stranger to being solitary, directing life around me to become so more often than not. And you, you repelled people as though by habit though you so desperately wanted them around. I had not found the worth of anyone save for you. And you were so very worthy. I broke my solitude for you and you alone. _How long?_ Did it matter? Your fingers searched for an answer and I bent over your face. _Long enough_. It didn't matter.

I knew not why you came to me. I have always been along my own path, forged by myself for myself alone, and you took it upon yourself to follow it though you knew not where it led. I expected you to be stalled by my stolid exterior as had been everyone else, but not you. I somehow once said that I had only ever danced alone and that morning you took me to task for it. I was worse with you than ever I had been on my own and I cannot say I was not relieved when we ended up on the floor. There were times you wanted me to let you go, the days you doubted me and believed you were my temporary experiment and were determined to discard yourself before I could do so, but you were mine and were going nowhere until I decided so. I memorised the rhythm of your breath so I could restore it if need be. I caught you doing the same with me, though in far craftier ways: leaving a warm drink within my absent-minded reach, trading the clothes I would wear for days on end with those in much better repair, cajoling me to bed with nothing more than that smile. And in some ways you _were_ my experiment, for I had seen nothing like you before, but so was I at times your game. Such fundaments of our natures cannot be quelled and neither you or I attempted to do so to the other.

You taught me a joy I never thought I'd feel.

But where were you when most I needed you?

I became vulnerable for you and it cost me. _You_ cost me. I was right to fear you.

I told you I would return, that neither sea nor wind could part us for long. You bade me stay, and I was going to. I was going to stay for you, and that thought made me fear you all the more. Where had this power you held over me come from? I showed you then just how soft you had made me, told you through that kiss that my fear of you was why I left. You never understood what I meant.

I went nonetheless.

I told you I would return and I meant it. Even as I screamed and the monster's rank breathing burned my face, as the sizzle of electric current seared my flesh and the acrid water filled my lungs, I meant it. I knew all along you would be gone when I did, knew that your game would end against your volition, but I had meant to be there waiting. But something had gone wrong.

I fought to keep life in my body and I thought of you. You would know what happened to me. Would know every detail, would be able to project without effort any place I could have been. And I found my way to one of your little hideaways, and then _I_ waited. I waited for you, and you didn't come. You should have known better and yet you left me for dead as had everyone else. I had been wrong all along to trust you, and now I was raw and wounded both inside and out because I waited and you didn't come.

I was angry. My recovery was agonising, long and arduous and painful, not the least of which reason was I had to peel the damn vulnerability you had given me out from under my skin. I had taken it for you so you could hold strong when I could not do so for you, and I needed what I had given to you and you were not there to provide it. You had softened me, weakened me, and I suffered without you. I suffered _because_ of you. And still for every second I waited and you didn't come. You didn't so much as look for me, did you. I had feared this from you and I had been right.

I lived in livor mortis before I met you. I lived in livor mortis again when you stayed away.

I had no choice.

You came when I called and I hated you for it. Hated you for appearing now, when you could hide in the ranks of our brethren, so you could run your disdainful eye over the ruin of my body and decide I was no longer good enough to wait for. Decide that I had never been good enough to look for. I had spent months in feverish anguish, struggling to keep your name from my lips, and now you appeared only when I had the ability to provide for you as you had refused to provide for me. I wanted to believe you were still mine. That damned vulnerable piece of you was still inside of my rotten core and I wanted to forgive you for abandoning me.

Something bade me ask for your solitary presence. I had wanted to dismiss you with all the others, to dismiss _you_ , but I could not. I remembered too well the comforting warmth of you and I wanted it. Everything around me carried a chill. You closed the door and said Jonathan. I hesitated. Didn't know if you deserved the privilege of carrying my name on your lips. You said Scarecrow. Scarecrow, why Scarecrow? When _ever_ had you called me such? Had you changed so much while I was away? I questioned you with what was left of my sight. You were hurt. You had no right to be.

You asked, _Do you know me?_

How dare you. How dare you come to me after all these months and ask me that after leaving me for dead. All of them left me for dead, but especially you. Especially you. I showed you my teeth. _Of course, Edward. Say, do you still sleep on the right side of the bed? Awaiting me?_

Of course I knew you still, of course I knew the answer your ears sought. But that was all you deserved. You told yourself you waited for me. What a beautiful lie. What an exquisite half-truth to tell yourself when really you didn't believe me worth rescuing.

I wasn't going to repair you this time. I wasn't going to slip in with the watery sunlight and become your shield anymore. You would have to do it yourself, as I had had to, as you had forced me to do.

I knew you. I knew you all along, and the little games you played, and I should have listened to myself when I cautioned my own eagerness that you would tire of me in time. And you knew me and you used that to your advantage, you made me as vulnerable as you were. Didn't you.

A plan in motion. I was going to destroy everything. Gotham had abandoned me and so I would abandon her, would leave her writhing and setting her fingers in her own flesh and screaming as she had done me, and when I called for you you came. Even though I hated you and what you had done to me I needed you. I needed the help that only your formidable mind could offer, and I needed to know you would be safe. I convinced you to keep your deathtraps below ground, told you how much easier that would be than acquiring the force needed to provide you ownership of buildings that weren't yours, and you listened.

You scorned living aid now, completed the bulk of your work with automatons of your own design. A secluded factory beyond the milita's knowledge. I was proud of you.

I stroked your arm when we stood too close near the handrail, watching the blooming cloud oppress the land itself. Something had told me to leave it to chance, that if you had ventured aboveground and inhaled the beast I would be none the worse. And I hated you, but I could not. I invited you and only you above the destruction and you were safe. You would not have come if I had not called. You belonged by my side and yet you only placed yourself there when I lowered myself to asking.

I lost everything. I no longer know who was right or what was right or what went wrong. I no longer know much of anything. You abandoned me. But your shadow is all I have left, if even I have that.

I exist in a corner now, whether this is mirrored in reality I don't know. The toxin calls to me as never before, it attempts to smother me and claim me for its own, and the only reason it does not is because I am already yours. I was. Am I? Damn me.

I wanted to end this relationship of ours but it is all that keeps me from the end myself. I tried to cut you out but it was too hard. I wait and I wait. You still don't come. I will never know why you left me.

Is there any future left for us to be?

I know you are there somewhere, waiting, always waiting for me to return, to stay, but I no longer can. I always meant to and still I do but I can't. I am still afraid of the power you hold over me, afraid that all that holds off the chemical raging in my veins is your shadow, and as ironic as it sounds if I cannot hold onto that fear I will not survive. Edward?

You have finally come but it is too late. There is a filmy wall between I and you now, I know you are there but I cannot know more. Am I still worth it to you, then? Was I wrong in believing you had discarded me as a used piece in your game? But how was I to know, when you showed me your back as had everyone else? Was I supposed to run to you, is that what you wanted? You always waited and I always came to you. It was my turn to wait. I had no choice but to wait.

I waited. I waited and you finally came.

You finally hold me as I always held you, but I am afraid of you most of all and I fight you. I am afraid of your power and of what it means that you've only come to me now, when I am at my most vulnerable. Why now? Why never before? Is this a new part of your game, were you _waiting_ for this? You cared. I thought you cared. I let myself care. I should have stayed alone, but you were too much.

 _The bats the bats_ , I mumble, in what is left of my voice, because I need you take them away, Edward, I can't ever know what is right or wrong if all I can see and hear and taste is only that, I know you are here but only barely, only barely and not enough. You touch me but I cannot feel it. It is all barely on the edge of my perception. The shadow in my mind given life.

You speak to me, this I know for the bass and the treble of your voice are the only music left in my ears, but what you say I cannot tell. The beating wings and the squealing and the rushing drowns you out. If you had come for me this never would have happened. You left me like the rest of them. You left me to rot and sputter and die.

You want to know why I didn't come back when I assured you I would. You want to know who took me from you. Nobody took me. You let me go. You let me drown. You gave up on me. I am afraid that you gave up on me.

There is the cadence of a riddle now, a rhythm I know all too well; I never cared to hear them but God I wish I could now. Tell me your riddles, Edward. Wrap me in them. I am now as raw as you were that day and I cannot handle it. I don't have your strength. I need it. Please.

 _The bats the bats take THEM OFF. PLEASE_ , I gasp, and you hear but do you _understand_ , do you _understand_ if you don't take them off I will never see you again. Get them off of me and we can start anew. You will know I always meant to return and I will know why you left me.

I cannot help but shed tears to think we will never have this conversation. It haunts me and you haunt me and it cannot end like this, can it? There must be something more for me than this. Why didn't you come when I called your name as I dragged myself out of the bay and into the unforgiving darkness? Why did you only come to me when I had something to offer you? I'm crying over you, Edward. Are you happy? Are you happy now? Is this what you wanted? I thought I knew. I do know. I don't know.

Finally, livor mortis sets in. This time for the both of us. The world turns on, without noticing. It always will.

It was always, from the beginning, far too complicated. It was a sketch, etched into the page with so much force no effort of erasing could remove it. A foundation irrefutably laid.

The sketch doesn't always bely the finished product; a skilled artisan knows how to use the shadow in the page to their advantage. But a beginner, no, a beginner's strokes will lapse into the same tired lines. And we were such beginners, weren't we.

I knew what the end would be and I didn't care. But I knew you did.

That's why I kissed you that day. I felt it coming and I wanted it to end softly for you, sweetly, like a fairy tale. I called you my prince and you were. So delicate, so beautiful and dangerous. Now dream has become nightmare, and I reach for you and you hold me but we may never touch.

No.

I do care after all.


End file.
